Tristin's Troubles
by being.emilys.shadow
Summary: Olivia deals with a troublesome teen who she is fostering and helps her to overcome her fears and difficulties. Olivia, OC
1. Chapter 1

I sit slumped in my chair, not listening to what the teacher is saying. "Ms. Emerson?" She says. "What?" I ask. "Do you know the answer?" "Does it look like I know the fucking answer? Bitch, if I knew the answer my hand would be up. Is my hand is up? Call on one of these pussies who has their hand up," I reply angrily. "Go to office," she commands me. I roll my eyes, standing up and walking out of the room. I don't go to the office and instead go outside, pulling out a cigarette and my bottle of "water". I light the cigarette and hold it in my mouth, leaning against the wall, when a brunette woman in her early thirties approaches me. "Can I help you?" I ask, somewhat rudely. "You might be able to. I'm Olivia Benson, with the Manhattan SVU, and I'm investigating the assault of a fellow classmate," she tells me. I nod, "What's her name?" "Krystal Hendrickson." "Sounds familiar. Don't know her." "Can you tell me what you've heard about her?" She asks. "Saw her at a party last week." "And what was she doing?" "I don't know man, I was high and drunk off my ass," I say, rubbing my eyes and taking a draw from my cigarette. I flick off my cigarette ash as she asks, "Okay before you were intoxicated, did you see her doing anything, talking to anybody?" "She was sitting on the couch. With a girl. Sophia something. She wasn't drinking, she was sober. I heard her say one time she didn't like the way it made her feel," I tell her, as I flick my cigarette away and take a swig from my water bottle. "Look, detective, I'm not the most reliable person. I'm supposed to be in the office right now for... I don't really know what for. Teachers don't like me, my friends don't like me, my mom doesn't like me, he'll, I don't like myself. _Nobody_ likes me. Nobody listens to me. Nobody trusts me. I doubt if a court or soemthing would." I take another swigs from the water bottle and grab the wall to steady myself. I could feel the alcohol starting to take affect. "Are you drunk?" She asks, surprised. "A little," I admit. I stumble over to a bench and sit down on it. "What have you been drinking?" She asks, trying to help me. "Uhhm. Nothing?" She looks at my water bottle. "Is it this?" She asks, taking it from me. I shake my head. She uncaps it and smells it. She shakes her head. "Come with me," she says. "Can I finish that?" I ask, nodding towards the vodka.

I wake up with a slight hangover at the police station. I sit up on a couch and swing my legs over to the side, rubbing my eyes. I look around and see a desk and a few awards hanging around the office. I stand and walk over to the desk, seeing a picture of a team, dressed in police uniforms and recognize only one, Olivia Benson. I walk out of the office and into the actual police station area. "Damn," I mumble, rubbing my eyes. I walk up to a blonde woman who looked like she knew what she was doing. "Hey, do you have an aspirin or something?" I ask her. "Uh, yeah, I might have something," she replied slowly. She looks through her desk and finds a bottle. She hands the bottle to me. I open it and pop a few in my mouth, swallowing three dry. "Thanks. I'm Tristin." "Detective Amanda Rollins, SVU." "Oh, do you know that Benson woman?" I ask her. "Liv?" "Uh, I guess. Brunette, dark, curvy?" "That's her," Amanda replies, chuckling. We sit in silence for a few moments before she asks, "So, how old are you." "Just turned 15," I tell her. She hums. "Have you been drinking?" She asks. "A little. Not much," I lie. "Look, Tristin, I know you're young and you make mistakes and you wanna be grown, but you can go around drinking, alright?" "Okay. I won't," I lie again. She puts something in my hand, "If you ever wanna talk, day or night, just call me." "Thanks," I say and then walk out.

 **A Few Days Later**

People are screaming all around me. They're laughing and drinking. I'm laughing and drinking too. It's the only way I can laugh anymore. A boy comes up behind me, grinding on my ass. He grabs my hips, holding me still while he bumps his crotch against me. I turn in his arms. I knew this house was often used for prostitutes and hookers so he probably thought that's what I was. He leads me to a more secluded room. "How old are you," he asks. "How old do you want me to be?" I ask, pulling my shirt over my head. "You're old enough," he nods, staring at my breasts. He unclios my bra and cups my breasts before biting them both. He's suddenly pulling my pants down and he's inside me, thrusting in and out. I lie there, happy I was finally feeling something. He grunts as he enters me again and again. When he finishes, he starts putting his pants back on and I start getting dressed too. "We should meet up again sometime," he says as he buckles his let. "Yeah," I mumble, putting my shirt back on. Then he is gone. He came and he left, within a matter of minutes. I pick up a bottle of whiskey sitting on the table next to the bed. I pick it up and tip it back as I make my way back to the party. Someone is handing out pills. I decide to snort a few. As I do, my nose burns and my lungs feel cold. I drink more of the whiskey. I kiss another dude sloppily. When his girlfriend comes over and slaps me, I stop. I continue drinking from the bottle and grab another pill. I feel dizzy and sick, but keep swaying to the music. Then suddenly the doors burst open and cops come flooding in. People run and the cops do nothing but I can't run and instead collapse on the couch. "Tristin?" I hear a familiar voice. "Hmm?" I hum, unable to open my eyes. "Come here," the voice says, lifting me up by the arms. "Who are you?" I mumble. "Oh god," she says. "What the hell have you taken?" "Pill." "What kind of pill?" I shrug. "Blue," I giggle. I'm suddenly in the front seat of a police car, sitting next to woman. I start messing with the radio and end up on some jazz station. I start crying. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm just so- so... so messed up and..." I trail off and begin again abruptly, "I hate my life. My mom is a fucking schizophrenic prostitute..." I proceed to mumble something about my dad and the rest of my family, before slumping over, my head hitting the dash. "I just had sex... with a dude whose name I don't even know," I slur. I continue to cry and I feel someone's hand on my back, trying to comfort me. "I need to go home. I need to go... home! Home! Need to go..." I start to become erratic. I punch the dash. "I need to go home!" I scream. "Okay! Okay! Where do you live?" The driver asks. I tell her my address and I'm there in what seems like seconds They walk me inside to find my mother on a rampage, arguing with her boyfriend. "Who the hell are these people!?" She screams at me. They continue to walk me to my room. "Tristin! Tristin! Who are these people!? Fucking answer me! Is this the government!?" She continues to yell at me as they lay me down and I pass out.

Although I'm not sure how I got here, I wake up in the same office I did a few days ago. This time the brunette detective is sitting at the desk. I groan almost immediately after I wake up. She looks over at me. "I have aspirin for you," she says, peering at me through her glasses. I hold my head as she brings me the aspirin and water. "Thank you," I say quietly. She pulls a chair out in front of me. "Do you have anything you want to talk about?" She asks me, concerned. "No," I say shortly. "May I ask you a few questions?" She asks. "I guess." "Has your mother ever abused you?" She asks. I scoff. "No." "Okay. Has anybody ever done anything to you that you didn't want them to?" "What? Like rape me?" I ask incredulously. "I'm usually too drunk to even notice they're doing anything, detective." She sighs. "Why do party so much?" "Helps me forget," I reply. "Forget what?" She asks. "How horrible my life is. I don't have to think about my mom. Or the fact that I don't have a dad. Or that I don't have any friends. Or that I'm a failure in school. I can just escape it all. I'm a different person. I have fun. I smile. I laugh. I don't do that when I'm sober." "Have you ever considered seeing a counselor." "We don't have to money," I tell her. "Last night, what did you take?" "I drank quite a bit. And then I took a couple of pills, I don't know what they were." "Do you realize how dangerous that is? Taking unidentified pills with alcohol?" She says, almost angrily. "You're not my mother," I say defensively. "No, but you're actual mother isn't going to say anything to you." "It's none of your buissness what I do!" I scream. I stand up and storm out of her office. She pulls me back in. "I'm sorry," She says. "Please sit down, I have some news for you." I sit down angrily. "You're mother thought we were trying to take you away from her. She overdosed on pills this morning. Your mother died." I sit on the couch. Just sitting. Not moving. I'm not sure I can move. And I don't feel anything. I don't feel shock or sadness. I don't feel anything. "You will go to a foster home," she continues. "And if you'd like, I want to be your foster mother." "I just got done telling you you aren't my mother and now... you are," I begin laughing. A smile crosses her face. "Yeah, you did."

 **Later That Week**

I'm at Olivia's house, in the room she had given me. He holds me down, my arms pinned above my head as he pushes into. "Hit me," I say. A blow lands across my face and I smile. "Again." He hits me again. I laugh. "Harder." He hits me harder. I spread my legs wider and he thrusts more intensely. I hear the door open. "Shit," I mumble. "Should I stop?" He asks. I shake my head, "No, keep going, that feels good. Hit me again." I almost want to be caught by Olivia. I don't know why. I moan loudly, "Don't stop!" He pushes into me faster. I wrap my legs around him as he pounds into me. He pulls out of me and cums on my stomach. At that moment, Olivia knocks on the door. "Just a second," I call. "Get in the closet," I whisper. He nods and does as I had said. I slip on a t shirt and sweatpants quickly and open the door. "Hey, Liv, how was work?" I ask, out of breath. "Fine... is something wrong?..." she asks suspiciously. "No," I say. "Everything's fine." "Alright," she says. "What do you want for dinner?" "Anything's good," I reply. "I'll be in the kitchen in a second, I have to do something." I close the door quickly and go to my closet. "Get dressed and climb down the fire escape. I will call you later, okay," I tell him. He nods and leaves. I walk into the kitchen to find Olivia heating up leftovers. I sit down on a barstool "There was a boy in there, wasn't there?" She asks, eating a forkful of pasta. I nod slightly, guilty. She just sighs.


	2. Chapter 2

I stand in the bathroom, staring down at the blue and white stick. Shit. I look at it one more time before setting it down and picking up the one beside it. Shit. And then I look at the next one. I'm pregnant. With a child. I feel the tears in my eyes. I'm not going to cry. I haven't cried in so long and not about to over some kid. I don't know who the father is. I don't have a job. All I do is have sex and do drugs. This kid is going to have no father. This kid is going to have a messed up mother. This kid... is going to be me. This can't be happening. I walk into Olivia's living room and sit on the couch, the test still in my hand. She's going to make me leave. She can't take care of a baby. She has a job. This kid is going to have no one, just like me. Olivia is going to hate me. I'm going to be homeless, jobless, living on the streets, and pregnant. I don't want a kid. I've never wanted kids. I should have used condoms. I shouldn't have been having sex. I shouldn't have been partying. Or drinking. Or taking drugs. I should have wanted to be different than my mother. My mother's life had no meaning because she had me. She had a scholarship to a good school. She was a good kid. Then she had sex one time, got pregnant, and lost it all. Only, I never had anything to lose. "Tristin?" I hear. I look up. "Are you okay?" Olivia asks. I just shake my head and hand her the test. She started at it for a moment before saying, "You're pregnant." I don't do anything. I can't do anything. "Do you want to keep it?" She asks. "Keep it?" "It is completely your choice of whether you want to have an abortion, give it up for adoption, or have it and raise it. It's up to you," she tells me, sitting down beside me. "I don't know who the dad is," I say, ashamed. "Well how many people _could_ it be?" She asks softly. "I don't know." "Did you ever use a condom?" She asks. "No." We sit there for a moment. "Olivia. I don't know if I can do this," I tell her quietly. "Do what?" "Have a baby. I don't think that I'm mentally or physically strong enough for it. And getting an abortion just seems so... I don't know. What if your mom had gotten abortion when she was pregnant with you? I wouldn't have a home. I'd probably be out having more sex, drinking more alcohol, popping more pills," I sigh. "Can I tell you soemthing? I don't tell many people." I nod. "When my mother was in her twenties, she worked at a college. One night as she was heading home, she got raped. As a result of that, she became pregnant with me. She would have gotten an abortion. But back then, they were illegal. She was forced to give birth to me. And she hated me. Everyday she would call me names, and she would hit me, and she would drink all the time. So I don't want you to not have an abortion and your child have to grow up like I did." I sit there for a moment, soaking it all in. "My mom was 16 when she got pregnant with me. She was good kid. She was gonna go to college. She was on the honor roll. She was... perfect. And one night she went to a party. She wasn't even going to do anything. She was drinking water. And some guy spiked her drink. He fu- he, I don't know what you call it, rape, sex, whatever, with her. And then she was pregnant with me. She couldn't go to college. Her parents were against abortion. She ran away from home, to an abortion clinic, and they wouldn't do it because of how young she was. Said she would change her mind. And when she gave birth to me, she couldn't get a job, we lived in the streets for a while. Slept in a car for a while. I think the first time she ever had sex for money was when I was around two. She had been working at Burger King and then I got sick and they wouldn't let her take off. So she had to get a different job. When I was six, she had her schizophrenic break. And then things just got worse from there. Sometimes her johns were so cheap, they would have sex in our car. In front of me. The first time she ever came home beat up, I was seven years old. We had finally found an apartment. It wasn't great. But it was better than the car or a box. The john, he raped her. Didn't pay her. Knocked her around. And when she didn't get enough money to her pimp, he kicked us out of the apartment and we had to live in he car again. One of the teachers at my school found out I was living in a car, so she would take me to her house and we would eat cookies and drink milk. And she told me she wished she could have a daughter like me and I told her she could adopt me. And she was going to. But then my mom found out about it all and went off her meds and she... her pimp... somebody killed the teacher. After that, I stopped trying. In school. At home. A couple years after that, when I was twelve, I started drinking. Smoked weed for the first time. And now I'm here."

I lie on the table. "This will be cold." I hear it squirt and it is cold. The OB spreads it around my stomach with the doppler. "Looks like you are about 10 weeks along," she notes. "Is it okay?" "Yeah... listen." I'm quiet and I hear a thumping. "What is that?" I ask "The baby's heartbeat." "When can I know the gender?" I ask. "I usually check around 17-20 weeks. Usually I would have mothers coming every three weeks or even only once a month but because you are so young I want you here every two weeks so I can make sure you and the baby are both healthy. I assume you are keeping it?" "I'm not sure yet. I know I'm not having an abortion. It's just a matter of whether or not I want to give it up or raise it." "Okay, let me give you a few tips. Usually you won't start feeling the baby moving until we can find out the gender but some women say they can feel it by 13 weeks. So be prepared for that. I'm going to prescribe some neonatal vitamins, have you been experiencing any morning sickness." I sigh," I don't know." "Have you been vomiting in the morning?" "Yes. But that could be from drinking. I drank a lot before I found out I wasn't pregnant." She nods, "Do you plan on drinking again while you are pregnant?" "No ma'am. I don't want to hurt the baby." "Okay, that's good. I want you to understand that because you have drank alcohol, when your baby is born, he or she could have fetal alcohol syndrome, have facial deformities, heart defects, spinal cord problems, developmental issues. It could increase the chance that you have a miscarriage or even that your baby could be stillborn. If you continue drinking, this increases the chances that any number of these things could occur. When you drink alcohol, it travels through your bloodstream, across the placenta, and into your baby's blood. And they can't break it down as quickly or as well as you can which is why it is so dangerous. Your baby got drunk every time you did. So, please, remember that." "I will. I won't drink," I promise.

I want it. I won't lie. I want it. Bad. The vodka bottle sits in front of me, almost taunting me. I need to call someone. Amanda. Fin. Liv. Cabot. Novak. Melinda. I need to call one of them. I pick up the bottle and hold it to my mouth. All I have to do i is tip it back. Yup it back and then I'll feel better. Better. Better is so tempting. It won't hurt. Just a sip won't hurt. Just a sip. I tip it back and let it pour into my mouth, gulping much more than a "sip". I lean back on the couch, feeling better, and fall asleep. I hear laughing and a door open. I open my eyes. Olivia and the rest of the team flood through the door. "Hey, Tristin, they wanted to come over and I figure we could all watch a movie and..." she trails off. "Can I talk to you? Privately?" She asks. She takes me into another room. "Have you been drinking?" She asks. "No," I mumble. "What's wrong?" She asks. "Tired." "Why is there vodka on the table?" She asks, angrily. "I wanted to feel better. I needed to feel better." "Come on," she says, now taking me to my room. I lie down on my bed. And I'm asleep in seconds.

 **Olivia's POV**

I don't know what to do. "Everything all right, Liv?" Fin asks. "Yeah." I pick up the bottle of vodka and pour it out in the sink. "I don't know how she got that," I say tiredly. "I'm sure someone probably gave it to her," Amanda says, trying to comfort me. "Do you want me to talk to her?" She asks. I shake my head, "She fell asleep." Casey steps in, "Olivia, you can't keep doing this. You have been wonderful to you and she just keeps drinking and doing whatever she wants. She doesn't care about anyone else. She's going to do what she wants and she doesn't care who it affects." "She sid she wanted to feel better," I tell them. "I think she might be depressed," Huang says. "I could talk to her later, maybe evaluate her." "She won't want to," I tell him. "She's convinced she's fine." "Well," Alex starts, "if she's doing stuff like this then she's obviously not." "Well, I know that. But she doesn't see it that way." We stand there for a moment. "Let's talk about this later. I'll figure something out. Let's watch the movie." And that's what we do.

When Trsitin wakes up and comes into the kitchen the next morning she doesn't say much. She doesn't know what I know. "How was last night?" She asks, taking a bite of cereal. "Fine. Everybody came over. We watched a movie." "I guess I fell asleep or something," she says. "Or something." I sit there for a moment. "Do you know?" She asks quietly. "Know what?" I ask, playing dumb. "Olivia. If you know just tell me." "When I got home yesterday and everybody was here with me, I found you here, drunk. There was vodka on the table and you were passed out on the couch. How much did you drink?" I ask. "I didn't think it was a lot but I don't know Liv. I'm so sorry, I was-" "Tristin. Don't apologize to me. It's me who it's affecting. It's affecting your unborn child. You need to go back to the OB and tell her what's happened and have her check you out." "Okay. I'll schedule and appointment." I could tell she was sorry. Guilty. Remorseful. She wished she hadn't done it. But she did. I want to help her. But I need her to help me help her. She doesn't want to be helped or she can't be helped. Maybe it's hopeless."I want you to talk with George," I tell her. "Huang? You want me to talk to a psychiatrist?" "Yes." "Why?" She asks. "Because, Tristin, I think you're depressed. I think there's a lot going on in your head that you think no one understands and that maybe even you don't understand and you just need someone to help you sort it all out. You obviously aren't going to come to me to help you. But maybe Hsiang can give you professional advice, he can give you friendship, and if needed he can give you medication." "Medication?!" She scoffs. "What, do you think I'm my mother?" She asks. She is getting angry. "No. But schizophrenia is a hereditary disease and since your mother had it you could get it too. And if you do have it that doesn't mean you are any less capable than any other person and that doesn't mean I care about you less." She sits there. "Fine. I'll talk to Huang. But I swear to god if he starts talking shrinks sh- stuff, then I'm leaving." "Okay. Deal."


End file.
